PactBound

Klein shot upright in bed, gasping as if he had been drowning. His lungs burned, desperate for air, and his hands clawed at his chest as though trying to tear open a barrier that kept him from breathing. Slowly, his body remembered how to function, and his lungs reinflated with a shuddering heave. He blinked rapidly, his vision swimming as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

This was his bedroom. The same one he had shared with Elizabeth. The same pictures hung on the walls—smiling faces frozen in time. The same trinkets and oddities he had bartered for during his years traveling with the caravans sat on the shelves, collecting dust. Everything was as it should be—but wrong, somehow. The air felt too still, the warmth of the room artificial, as if someone had copied every detail of his home but stripped it of its soul. The shadows in the corners seemed to shift when he wasn't looking, and the walls were too clean, too perfect, like a stage set rather than a place where life had been lived.

"The girls!" Klein's mind raced, panic slamming through him. He had seen them running. He had heard their screams. Had they made it? Were they safe? His pulse thundered in his ears as he staggered to his feet—

And froze.

The hands he lifted in front of him were not his own. His skin, once rough and sun-worn, was now smooth as polished marble, faintly glowing in the dim light. Too perfect. Too unnatural. Beneath the surface, swirling runic markings coiled and twisted, barely visible but undeniably there. They seemed to pulse faintly, as if alive.

"What the hell—" Klein's voice caught in his throat as a noise from the kitchen snapped his attention toward the door.

SCRRRRRRK!

The sound was slow, deliberate, like someone dragging metal against wood. His heart leapt at the thought of his daughters rushing into the room, their laughter filling the air as they threw themselves into his arms. But the room remained silent, save for the faint creak of footsteps. The air smelled faintly of ozone, sharp and metallic, and the floor beneath his feet felt unnaturally smooth, as if it had never been touched by dirt or wear.

"Ah," he grunted, forcing himself to take a step forward. His body felt like it weighed a ton, every movement a battle against some unseen force. He managed only a few shaky steps before his legs gave out.

THUD!

He hit the floor with a groan, frustration boiling inside him. All he wanted was to see his girls, to hold them and know they were safe. But even his own body seemed to be working against him. His mind raced with questions. How was he alive? What had happened to him? And why did everything feel so... off?

CLICK.

The sound of the bedroom door unlatching made him freeze. The hinges creaked as it swung open, and a girl stepped inside. She looked to be in her mid-teens, lean and wiry, with a sickly gray complexion that contrasted sharply with her sharp, calculating eyes. Her bob-cut hair fell just above her shoulders, framing a face that was both youthful and unnervingly serious. She moved with eerie precision, her steps deliberate and mechanical, as if every motion had been rehearsed.

Her gaze swept over the room, lingering on the disheveled bed before settling on Klein, sprawled on the floor. Her eyes were unblinking, her expression blank, as if she were studying a specimen rather than a person. "You're finally awake," she said, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. She carried a neatly folded stack of clothes, which she set on the dresser with a precision that bordered on robotic before approaching him.

"I'm fine," Klein grunted, pushing himself up with trembling arms. His muscles screamed in protest, stiff and unyielding. "I can get up on my own."

"You can't," the girl replied matter-of-factly, her tone as cold as her gaze. "Come on," she said, stepping closer. Klein was about to push her away, insisting he could stand—when she hooked an arm under his and hauled him up with unnatural ease.

His stomach dropped.

He wasn't light. He should have been dead weight. But she barely strained.

"It'll take a few minutes for your body to adjust," she said, setting him on the edge of the bed as if he weighed nothing. Her movements were fluid, almost mechanical, and her eyes never left his, unblinking and unnervingly steady.

Klein's mind raced, questions tumbling over each other. But before he could speak, his eyes caught his reflection in the mirror across the room. The face staring back at him was unrecognizable.

Long, platinum blonde hair cascaded down his back like a waterfall, catching the light in a way that made it seem almost ethereal. His eyes—once a familiar shade of green—were now a molten gold, flecked with amber, as if someone had poured liquid sunlight into them. The face that stared back at him was not his own. His features were too perfect, his skin unblemished. His breath hitched. Was this really him?

"What did you do to me?" he demanded, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and disbelief. He turned to the girl, who was now sorting through the clothes she had brought with the same unnerving precision.

"I forged you a new body," she said simply, as if that explained everything. She tossed a pair of boxers at him. "Please cover up."

"Cover up?" Klein echoed, his eyes darting back to the mirror. It was only then that he realized he was completely naked. His new body was a masterpiece of symmetry and strength, every muscle perfectly defined, every curve and angle meticulously crafted. It was as if he had been sculpted by the hands of a god.

"Uh, sorry," he muttered, grabbing the boxers and awkwardly covering himself. His movements were clumsy, his hands fumbling as if they didn't quite belong to him.

"There's nothing to apologize for," the girl said, her tone as neutral as ever. "It should only take a few minutes for you to adjust enough to walk. I'll be waiting in the dining room." She turned on her heel and headed for the door, her movements as precise and deliberate as before.

"Wait!" Klein called, stopping her in her tracks. He fixed her with a hard stare, his voice low and urgent. "Just tell me—are my girls okay?"

The girl paused, her hand resting on the doorknob. For a moment, she didn't respond, her unblinking gaze fixed on the door. Then, slowly, she turned her head to look at him, her expression as blank as ever. "You don't need to worry about your daughters," she said, her tone leaving no room for further questions.

"What does that mean?" Klein pressed, his voice rising. "Where are they? Are they safe? Tell me!"

The girl tilted her head slightly, her eyes locking onto his. "They are not your concern anymore," she said, her voice cold and final. Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

Klein sat there for a moment, his mind reeling. He turned back to the mirror, studying his reflection with a mixture of awe and unease. The runes covering his body seemed to shift and shimmer as he moved, their patterns intricate and mesmerizing. He ran a hand over his chest, feeling the faint ridges beneath his skin.

"Forged a new body," he muttered under his breath, the words tasting strange on his tongue. What did that even mean? And who was that girl? She couldn't have been more than sixteen, yet she spoke with the authority of someone far older. His last memory was of dying—of fire and pain and the desperate hope that his daughters had escaped. Had it all been for nothing? Was this some kind of cruel joke?

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden surge of strength in his limbs. The stiffness was fading, replaced by a strange, almost electric energy. He stood, testing his balance, and found that he could move more easily now. His movements were still awkward, as if he were wearing a suit that didn't quite fit, but he could walk.

He dressed quickly, the clothes fitting him perfectly, as if they had been tailored specifically for his new body. The fabric felt strange against his skin, almost too sensitive, but he pushed the sensation aside. He had more pressing concerns.

CLICK! CREAK!

He opened the door to find the girl sitting at the dining table, her attention focused on something he couldn't see. She looked up as he entered, her expression unreadable.

"Well," she said, her voice as calm as ever, "I suppose I should formally congratulate you, Mr. Ashford."

"Congratulations?" Klein frowned, his confusion deepening. "For what?"

The girl tilted her head slightly, her eyes locking onto his. "For finally making your way back to the world of the living."